A Matter of Happenstance
by emjalen
Summary: Five things that never happened to Kelsone Haldane. AU. Up Next- "The laws of succession of the House provide that only male members of the family may inherit the throne, unless and until the legitimate male lines becomes extinct, when the nearest female heir may succeed ad personam." -Codex Derynianus. In which Kelsone knows her duty as a princess, and ruling was never included


Disclaimer- I don't own the _Deryni Chronicles_ or anything associated with Katherine Kurtz and her writing. All credit for the amazing universe of the Eleven Kingdoms goes to her.

_Year 1120, February_

The great hall of Castle Rhemuth was dark. Orange embers glowed in the hearth; the two torches in the hall sputtered and sent shadows dancing wildly across walls, glittering on the few jewels in the lurid hanging banners.

Seated on the massive dark throne was a girl, her figure all but invisible. Only the starlight from the high set glass panes separated the black of her hair from the stained brown wood. Her slender fingers twisted together, and then fell open to reveal a gold ring set with rubies. In the firelight, the crimson fire seemed to be that of blood. Her hand clenched, knuckles white, and the edges of the ring cut into her palm.

"My princess?"

At the sound of the hushed tenor voice, Kelsone startled, and her head lifted to reveal red-rimmed gray eyes. Her lips twisted in a shadow of a watery smile at the man before her, and then trembled.

"Morgan." It was all she could think to say, and her throat choked.

The duke bowed deeply before her, straightening, and his silver eyes, mysterious pools of gray that held within them the knowledge of the awesome and heretic power of the deryni, bore into her.

Kelsone met his eyes before glancing down, her gaze catching on the dark green glitter of his ducal ring before she looked away, unable to meet his gaze. A rending grief once again rose within her, and her eyes filled with tears as she covered her mouth with her hand to muffle a sob.

Kelsone knew what she wanted to do. She _wanted _to run to Morgan as she'd done as a child, to fling her arms around him and be caught in a strong hug as he held her, wanted to sob out her grief, her terror, her pain, and her sickening relief that she was not dead and that he had somehow, someway with his awesome deryni magic saved her life. She wanted to let the calm and mysterious deryni lord who'd always appeared all-knowing to her soothe her and grant her sleep without nightmares.

She'd always felt so-_safe _with Morgan. If only she could…

But Kelsone's body felt frozen in place atop the throne and she did not move.

She was a girl, not a woman, but she would have to act as one. Gwynedd's future, _her _future, depended on it.

"I'll only be 'your highness' until November. Then I'll be a queen, not a princess."

Kelsone's eyes widened as she heard her words, and Morgan seemed as surprised as her. She met his gaze evenly, trying not to quiver as he studied her face, his own calm and cautious.

"Yes."

"And Wencit and Charissa will both try to dethrone me, the Council will try to undermine me, and every unmarried foreign king and prince who isn't too closely related to me is going to try to marry me, through means fair and foul."

The princess' tone was flat, and at another time Morgan might have chuckled, but there was no humor in him tonight.

"Yes." he answered her, voice dark.

Kelsone's lips trembled again and the terrible knowledge in his eyes made her look down. She couldn't do this! She was too young, and no one had taught her how to rule a kingdom! She was supposed to marry, to support and guide her husband, to care for his house, to give him counsel, to bare princes and princesses who would one day rule and marry rulers.

Rulers were her father, powerful and kind, Uncle Nigel, sure and confident, Conall, aware of his royal blood and arrogant, Rory just starting to understand his position, Payne too young and sweet to understand.

But they were all dead, and she was the only one left.

_Kelsone Richeldis Amalie Gwenaël Haldane, Princess of Gwynedd._

But no, it wasn't that, not anymore. Now she was-

_Kelsone Richeldis Amalie Gwenaël Haldane, Queen of Gwynedd. _

Only in name, until November. In November, she celebrated her birthday. In November, she could marry. In November, she would rule. Until then the King's- no, _Queen's_, Council would rule, her mother Regent over them.

Kelsone almost pitied the lords of the Council who would have to deal with stubborn Queen Jehana, whose grieving would make her will implacable. Almost. Because now that her father and uncle were gone, she knew what her mother, fanatical in her devotion to the faith, would have on her agenda.

Morgan's death because his mother had been a deryni sorceress and he had not given up the magic that was his heritage. Morgan because he was a powerful duke who had significant economic sway in the south. Morgan because he was the general of Gwynedd's armies. Morgan because her father had given him a seat on the Council, because her uncle had trusted him, and because her daughter trusted him with her life.

Morgan, because as far as Jehana was concerned, he had corrupted the Haldane family, all except for her.

The Council would be on her mother's side because the command was given by a grieving queen, because the bishops hated him, and because many of the lords were either envious of Morgan or feared him. They would bring him up on false charges of treachery and blasphemy, with the bishops throwing in heresy. The punishment for all was death. Kelsone couldn't see Morgan _allowing _anyone to take him prisoner, much less execute him. Excommunication and banishment though would accomplish the same as death.

Kelsone was sick of death.

_What started as a simple nursery cough had turned into an epidemic. Meraude, weeping, clasped a feverish Rory to her as the boy drifted in and out of consciousness, his skin burning, his cheeks flushed with fever. Little Payne lay in the bed over, skin ashen with death. _

_She ignored the scratchiness of her throat, the hotness of her cheeks, the weakness causing her limbs to tremble, and covered Conall's forehead with a wet cloth, her proud young cousin gripping her hand, his Haldane gray eyes full of fear as he coughed so hard he couldn't breath. Nigel, cheeks scarlet and eyes glazed watched in despair as another son slipped from the realm the of living into that of God. _

_She had fainted and her father had caught her. He and her mother were with her day and night, and when her father wasn't there, Father Duncan was. Her body felt as if it was burning, her throat raw from coughing so much, and her bones ached. The figures above her got blurrier and blurrier, until all she could make out was Father Duncan's soothing voice, the redness of her mother's hair, and the black of her father's. Then, one day, Brion stopped coming. For a while, only her Aunt Meraude and Father Duncan where there. Then her mother came back. When she asked where Brion was, in one of her rare lucid moments, Jehana had started weeping. Grief choked her, and the world faded into a sea of unbreakable black. _

Kelsone wiped at her eyes, and sniffed as she searched for her handkerchief.

"Did the sickness hit Coroth as well?" she asked.

"No," Morgan answered, voice gentle. "Rhemuth seems to be as south as the plague traveled. The Council is hoping it will be contained here and not spread any farther."

Kelsone bit her lip, thoughts churning.

_Her lucid moments were getting rarer and rarer, and every time she awoke, it was for a shorter time. Her mother's face was paler every time and her aunt was always crying. Father Duncan's voice seemed tired and cracked; sometimes Bishop Arilan was there, but most often she saw Duncan. A fire burned day and night in her hearth, and even as she sweated through her nightgown and blankets, her body shook with the cold. At some point, it had gotten to hard to speak, and blood began to dot her lips. _

_She was dying. _

Kelsone toyed with her handkerchief as she gripped the Ring of Fire.

"Morgan, when did you arrive in Rhemuth?"

The duke shifted, his voice a murmur as he answered, "Only three days ago, your highness."

He did not meet her eyes, and Kelsone's heart began to beat faster.

"I don't remember much about being sick," she said. "I know that my mother was there, and Aunt Meraude, after Rory died. Father Duncan was there a lot as well, praying for me or comforting my mother. I think- I think my father caught it from me as well, but somehow even as I lingered, he died."

Gray eyes filled with tears as they met Morgan's gaze, and Kelsone's voice cracked. "It's my fault he's dead. He caught it from me. He wouldn't leave my bed chamber, and I got him sick."

For a heartbeat, Morgan stopped breathing as the full impact of her words hit him, and the long held back tears began to cascade down Kelsone's face.

As he walked forward, she repeated, "It's my fault."

When he reached the throne he knelt before her and took her hands in his, enfolding them in his grip and prying her bloodless fingers from the Ring of Fire. Wetness smeared on his palms. Her hands shook and twisted, white with tension as he gently but firmly pried them open to reveal a smear of red. A cut lay open on her palm, seeping blood, smearing across his calluses and the hard edges of the ring, dotting the rubies darker. She hiccupped in surprise at the wound and didn't fight his hand when he grasped her chin and brought her head up. Gray met and held gray eyes.

"Listen to me my princess," he whispered, voice hard with intent. "This is not your fault. Brion's death is not your fault. If he hadn't caught the plague from you, he would have caught it from Nigel or one of your cousins, or one of the ill in the castle. He stayed with you because he loved you, and I know that he would not have been parted from your side for anything in the world. There was no escaping the death the sickness brought."

Kelsone's eyes widened and she whispered, "But I didn't die. Morgan, everyone who got sick died- I'm the only who lived! I- I was dying, and I know I was dying, but then you were there, and I saw your face, and you and mother were fighting, but then you placed your hand on my forehead and I fell asleep again. When I awoke the next morning, the fever was gone and I could walk, and- and my mother was staring at me like I was a monster! Why was she looking at me like that?"

Morgan's eyes darkened, and he bit back a curse. Damn Jehana. Only she could be so upset that her only child was saved with deryni magic to be horrified that the child lived. Kelsone's wet gray eyes in her too thin face with grief and hurt written on her features made him want to strangle the queen.

"Princess," he said gently, "your mother loves you. She was just surprised you lived; your aunt had started to plan your funeral."

Kelsone shook her head stubbornly. "It's more than that Morgan, I know it is. You _did _something, I know you did, or Mother wouldn't be acting like she wanted to have me exorcised!"

Morgan paused, a tangle of half-truths and evasions stopped on his tongue as he remembered that night.

_Guards tried to slow him down, but the deryni duke was in no mood to trade words with the queen's puppets. He threw the door wide open and stalked into Kelsone's chambers. The smell of incense hit him hard, as did the gazes of several startled priests and court ladies. A babble started as he strode by them, but he ignored their protests as he opened the door to Kelsone's bed chamber. _

_His heart stopped beating. Kelsone lay in her bed, skin pale and clammy, cheeks flushed bright red with fever, her body shaking even under multiple blankets. Blood glimmered wet on her lips. The heat of the room enveloped him, and her eyes alit upon him, glazed but lit with recognition. _

"_Morgan?" she questioned, voice slurred and cracked. _

_Before he could answer, Jehana let out a shriek. "Out!" _

_The queen's green eyes were alit with fury and hate and beyond her Meraude sat, one hand curled around her niece's as she wept softly. _

"You were very sick my princess. By the time I arrived, you were at death's door. Your mother was enraged that I should intrude- the physician was sure that it was your last night with the living. I…healed you."

Kelson's eyes went wide, her grief momentarily replaced by intense curiosity and wonder. "Healing?" she whispered, tone hushed. "You can heal? Like the disciples of Christ?"

Morgan shrugged. "The deryni of old, it was claimed, could heal. It must be that, for I am certainly no saint!"

Kelsone huffed. "I believe that! Morgan, if you can heal, why didn't you come early? Why didn't I know before?"

His eyes darkened. "With a plague outbreak and no direct heir to Corwyn, I could not risk coming. I didn't know I could heal, not until a week ago when I saved Derry's life. He- tends to be rather rambunctious in the rougher tavern establishments, and someone had given him a nasty blow to the head. I was willing to do anything, try anything to save his life- even risk the untrained of use of an application of my powers that I didn't know how to do and didn't know if I had. When I realized I could heal- I still don't quite understand how- I came to Rhemuth as quick as could. By then, you were the sickest. Nigel was apparently recovering and Conall was sick, but not near as sick as you."

Kelsone's brow furrowed. "But they still died! Why didn't you heal them after you healed me?"

The duke shook his head, grim. "I didn't have the strength your highness. You were at death's door and, according to Meraude, I fell unconscious after healing you. The guards had to carry me out. When I awoke, the bells were tolling your uncle and cousin's deaths. I'm sorry- I wish I had had the strength to save them."

Kelsonse pulled back and looked, _really _looked at Morgan. His eyes were as mysterious as always, but they were tired as well, and his face was thinner than it had been, soft with exhaustion as opposed to his usual combative tension. He was just as hurt and sad as she was. Her father and uncle had been among Morgan's closest friends and he had loved them to.

Silently, she slipped off the throne to her knees and wrapped her arms around him as tight as she could.

"I miss them too," she whispered, trembling.

He sucked in a harsh breath and moved to pull away, but she hung tightly to him, not caring about the impropriety. For a moment she thought he would forcefully detangle himself, but then he tentatively wrapped his arms around her. She inhaled the scent of him- wood smoke and wool, the barest tang of sea salt and horses, something musky and masculine and very _Morgan_ and let the tears flow freely. His grip on her tightened until it hurt and for the moment he buried his face in her hair, she felt something wet drip on her neck.

"I'll have to rule," she whispered. "No one else if left. It's just me now."

He pulled back until he could meet her eyes, his face intent and hard, eyes gleaming metallic.

"I am your vassal to command, my princess." 

Note concerning canon_- The description of Kelsone's feelings concerning Morgan were taken directly from __Deryni Rising__ and some of the writing is Katherine Kurtz's words. Since Kelsone is essentially Kelson and both have just lost family members, I thought the identical description was appropriate._

-_While searching for what to write next, it occurred to me that the bubonic plague (which obviously isn't this plague) was still active for a long time in certain places in Europe and that sickness, at any time during the medieval period, could be deadly. For anyone who's confused, a sickness hit during the winter in Gwynedd before the summer where all hell breaks loose in __Deryni Rising__ and kills all the males of the Haldane line, leaving Kelsone, the closest female heir, to rule._

_-Any thoughts, comments, reviews, and constructive criticism are welcome. Tell me what you think! Any ideas for the next two chapters would also be welcome. _


End file.
